


Sweet Surrender

by therobotjay



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Aftercare, Anders in a corset, Bottom Anders, Breathplay (Minor), Established Relationship, Hawke is a bit of a lovesick puppy, Implications of past sexual abuse, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 10:15:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14566833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therobotjay/pseuds/therobotjay
Summary: Anders has been distracted. Angry.Brooding.Hawke wants to take Anders' mind off of all of the awful things that can't be fixed quite yet. Friendly advice from Isabela leads to a shopping trip and a healer in a corset, gettingexactlywhat he needs.





	Sweet Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> This story features my Hawke, who is a pyromancer and rather ginger. Also a complete idiot for his Anders.

The noise in the Hanged Man was a welcome distraction. Hawke sat at a table, alone, after chasing off a few curious bar patrons. He was getting a reputation around Kirkwall, as a problem solver. He wasn’t sure he liked it. It was dangerous, after all, to be well-known when one is an apostate mage. After growing up away from the Circle and the Templars, it was difficult to remember, sometimes. But a couple of ‘polite requests’ to hunt down fellow apostates (all of which he’d helped escape instead, of course) had hammered that lesson home.

It didn’t matter how much good he did, how many people he helped. He’d always be either a pariah or a slave to the Chantry.

His companion and lover, Anders, was the most sterling example of that. Anders was a healer, one who worked tirelessly to bring what comfort he could to the poorest of Kirkwall. Yet, he was hunted. He lived in fear.

Hawke wished more than anything that he could take that fear away. But maybe giving Anders love and distraction was enough.

For now.

Until he could drown the streets of Kirkwall in Templar blood. And lay their charred and twisted armor at Anders’ feet.

He took a deep breath and a swig of his ale, forcing himself to calm down. It wouldn’t do to burst into flames in the middle of the tavern.

It was no wonder that Anders stayed in his clinic, or the Hawke estate, most of the time. Bursting into regular run-of-the-mill flames was bad. Igniting with blue fire and losing control of one’s actions every time there was a Templar present was arguably much, much worse.

Uninvited, as usual, Isabela slid into the chair opposite Hawke, smiling that beguiling smile of hers, and sat another pint near his hand. She sat her own ale on her side of the table and leaned back in the chair, making herself comfortable, clearly indicating that she wasn’t going anywhere.

Hawke sighed. He hadn’t really wanted company but if he had to have it, Isabela was more palatable than most. He’d have preferred Varric, who was happy to just talk and let his honey voice flow over his audience without asking questions. But such was life.

“You look like you’re thinking,” Isabela said. She leaned forward, putting her elbows on the table and very purposely pushing her breasts together, their full mounds nearly escaping their scanty confines. “Which means things are about to get interesting.”

“Nothing so adventurous,” Hawke replied, smiling in spite of himself. If there was anyone in his little group that he could always count on to be ready and willing to do something stupid, it was Isabela. “I was just thinking about Anders. About how to take his mind off of things.”

Isabela laughed, high and bell-like. She really was beautiful. It was no wonder that both he and Anders had succumbed to her charms at one point or another. “Have you tried fucking him?” she asked, amusement clear in her voice.

Hawke rolled his eyes. “You know that Anders and I are lovers, Isabela. You offered me a variety of examples of the things he can do with his magic, remember?”

“Not what I asked,” she said, smirking. She gestured delicately with one hand. “Anders is...complex. I’m sure he enjoys making love to you. I’m sure he’s happy and safe in your arms. But if you want to _distract_ him…” She suddenly clenched her fist and grinned. “You have to be a little more creative. More _forceful_.”

“I don’t follow,” Hawke replied, his gingery eyebrows crinkling together. He wasn’t jealous of Anders’ past. Sometimes, however, he felt...inadequate. Like he couldn’t live up to the sexual escapades that his lover was used to.

It was Isabela’s turn to roll her eyes. “Really. There’s nothing that you’ve wanted to try with him? Knowing the things he’s done, knowing that he’d let you do _pretty much anything_? There’s nothing that’s occurred to you?”

A blush pinkened Hawke’s cheeks, so painfully obvious on his pale skin, making his freckles stand out.

Isabela’s dark eyes widened a little in wicked delight before another clarion laugh came from her lips. “Oh, there is _something_ , isn’t there?”

“It’s…” Hawke had been about to deflect, to push the idea away, claiming that it was nothing and didn’t matter. But Isabela’s open, non-judgmental face made him rethink it. He sighed. “I know that he used to frequent the brothels. I was thinking that he would look good dressed as one of the workers.”

“Oooh! A gauzy robe, brightly colored smalls--”

“No,” Hawke interrupted. He turned his mug of ale in his hands, not quite making eye contact. “Like one of the female workers.”

One of Isabela’s dark eyebrows arched delicately. An evil grin curved her lips. “I will help you with this on one condition,” she said eagerly.

“What?” Hawke asked, more out of surprise that she was ready and willing to help than curiosity about what the condition might be.

“You simply _have_ to tell me _exactly_ how good he looks.”

***

Hawke had spent hours shopping with Isabela. He wanted everything to be perfect. Fortunately, the pirate had an eye for measurements of every kind -- and a brilliant memory for details -- so fitting in Anders’ absence wasn’t an issue. She’d rattled off the healer’s dimensions to the shopkeep without a pause.

Returning to his estate, Hawke hoped Anders was there, not still at the clinic. It was late, he should be home, but sometimes the healer worked well into the night, mending the wounded and curing the sick. Hawke’s heart ached with love for his apostate. His fingers tightened on the bag that held the outfit that he and Isabela had picked out as he started to reconsider; it almost felt wrong, to objectify someone that he cared for so deeply.

Then Anders came down the stairs, drying his hair with a towel, wearing his house robe. A robe that only came to mid-thigh, leaving his long legs on display. Between his teeth, he had the little braided length of leather that he used to hold his hair back in its half-tail.

Hawke must’ve been staring because Anders smiled, took the tie out of his mouth, and asked, “What is it?” He draped the towel across his shoulders, then his nimble fingers moved to pull his hair back.

“Leave your hair down,” Hawke said, his voice already a little choked. By the Maker, Anders was a vision. From his sandy hair with just a kiss of copper in the sunshine, to his beautiful hazel eyes, to his generous mouth, to his broad shoulders… Hawke shook himself.

Anders quirked an eyebrow but let his hands drop, leaving his damp hair falling around his face. “Alright. What’s in the bag?” he asked.

“Oh, this? It’s…” Hawke caught himself, twice in one day about to write his desires off as ‘nothing’. Anders was just so...fragile. In so many ways. He didn’t want to do anything to make the healer think that his desire for him was purely physical. He’d had enough of that in his life.

_“Trust me. He’ll love it.”_ Isabela’s knowing words echoed in his head. Maybe she was right. Hawke did only want to dress Anders up so prettily _because_ he cherished him.

Hawke steeled his spine, feeling more brave in that moment than he did facing down darkspawn. “It’s...I got you something. A present. Well, really, it’s just as much a present for me. If not moreso.” He sighed and shook his head. He sounded like a nervous teenager. “It’s something for you to wear.”

Quirking his eyebrow again, Anders stepped forward, one hand reaching out for the mysterious parcel.

“Wait.” Hawke’s fingers tightened around the bag’s drawstring top. “Just...promise me that you’ll say no, if you don’t want to wear it. It’s fine.” He offered a reassuring smile.

Anders’ other eyebrow raised to meet the first. “...alright, now that you’ve got me worried…” he chuckled, extending his hand again.

Hawke sighed and handed him the package before he could rethink it.

Painfully slowly, Anders opened the drawstring and looked inside. He didn’t say anything for the span of a few heartbeats, giving Hawke enough time to worry that his prick had just lost him the most important person in the world.

“You want to see me in this?” Anders asked quietly, but he didn’t sound offended. His voice had the strange hungry-softness that it held when they were intimate. When he looked up to meet Hawke’s eyes, his arousal was written all over his face.

Encouraged, Hawke nodded. “I’d love to.”

Anders ran his teeth over his bottom lip, glancing back down at the parcel in his hands. “I’ll go change. Meet me in the bedroom?”

“ _I’d love to._ ”

***

Hawke shrugged out of his mage-robes and into his house robe. Made of red silk, it tickled against his skin. He pulled on the matching silk pyjama trousers, not wanting to look too pushy. Just in case.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting for his lover to change in the bathroom next door, was the second most patient Hawke had ever been. Being a mage with a fiery temper and even more fiery spells conferred some benefits. One of which was rarely having to wait for anything or ask twice.

His skin tingled, leaving his fingers and toes feeling...fuzzy. And, by the Maker, his cock _ached_. He fought down the urge to touch himself, knowing that the wait would make this all the sweeter. Anders had taught him that, over the first three years of their acquaintance. And any moment, the most perfect creature in all of Thedas would come walking through that door, wearing…

The door’s hinges creaked softly, the sound making Hawke’s entire body tense.

“Close your eyes,” came Anders’ voice from the hallway.

Obediently, Hawke did so. Without his vision, every other sense seemed to thrum. The sound of Anders’ soft footfalls, the smell of...was that perfume?... A shiver chased down Hawke’s spine.

“You know,” Anders said. Hawke turned his head blindly to face where the sound was coming from. “I’m impressed that you got my measurements correct.” His voice was pitched soft and soothing but the undercurrent of seduction was unmistakable.

It was the same way that the brothel workers spoke when they were trying to pull a client.

Hawke drew in a long, slow breath, fighting the urge to open his eyes and grab his lover, pull him into bed and take him. The faint scent of perfume made his head swim pleasantly. “Isabela helped,” he offered.

“Mmm. That makes sense. That woman never could keep her eyes off of me.” Anders’ voice was coming from closer now.

“I can’t blame her. You’re gorgeous. I can’t keep my eyes off of you, either,” Hawke said. He chuckled. “Except when you ask nicely, of course.”

“Of course.” Anders let his fingertips trail down the other man’s cheek.

Hawke immediately nuzzled into the touch, desperate for contact. He started to reach out blindly but Anders tutted. 

“Not yet,” the healer breathed against Hawke’s ear. “But you can open your eyes.”

Hawke took a breath. He knew he was blushing, he could feel the heat on his cheeks. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

The vision before him took his breath away.

Anders, his perfect lover, was standing so close, close enough to touch. His lean, muscular torso was wrapped in the corset Hawke had chosen, the pale blue fabric contrasting gloriously with the healer’s skin, starting just below his pale nipples and ending right above the jut of his hip bones. Lower was the pair of smalls that went with it, a darker, jewel-toned shade of blue, and of a feminine cut that was straining to keep Anders’ erection contained. The healer’s long legs were covered in shimmering silks that stopped at mid-thigh, held up by a pair of stocking suspenders.

He looked...amazing. Perfect. By the Maker, he was perfect.

Anders ran a hand through his loose hair, letting it tumble around his face, and gave Hawke a grin. “What do you think?” he asked confidently.

“May I touch you?” Hawke asked in return, his voice barely above a whisper, eyes wide and awed, fingers crawling against the sheets in longing.

“Yes, of course you--” Anders didn’t even finish his sentence before Hawke was on his feet, pressing their lips together, his hands pushing through the healer’s hair, tightening for a beat, before moving down to cradle his jaw. His kiss was hungry, passionate, his tongue pushing into Anders’ pliant mouth.

With a shudder, Hawke pulled back, forcing himself to calm down, to go slowly. He didn’t want to ruin this by rushing. Anders was already breathing shallow and quick, lips parted. “You’re so beautiful,” Hawke breathed. Slowly, he reached out to touch the corset, his battle- and burn-scarred fingers catching rough on the fabric. He could feel the warmth of Anders’ skin through the material, the hard sections of steel boning that reinforced the garment. He let his hands trail up and down the healer’s sides before moving them to his back. Letting out a shaky breath, Hawke ran his hands along the lacing.

Anders was watching him intently, a look of gentle amusement on his face. “Hawke?” he asked. When the mage didn’t look up from his awestruck exploration, Anders placed a hand on his chest and stepped a little closer. In a lower, more urgent tone, he added, “Do you want to…?” A slight nod in the direction of the bed made his intentions clear.

“Not yet,” Hawke replied. His eyes met the healer’s for a moment, his eyebrows coming together and head tilting slightly in a look that was all pained longing. Then he unceremoniously dropped to his knees.

Hawke kissed the tops of the stockings, his upper lip against Anders’ skin, the lower on the silks. The healer made a small, needy sound, his hips jerking forward slightly. Hawke’s eyes moved to the bulge at the front of the lady’s smalls, the spot of dampness at the head of his lover’s cock. It made his mouth water.

Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to that dark spot.

Anders gasped. “Hawke?” he breathed.

It occurred to Hawke in that moment that in the time they’d been together, he hadn’t given his lover’s prick nearly enough attention. He always made sure that Anders finished too, but that wasn’t strictly the same thing. He nuzzled against the bulge in front of his face, covering the healer’s constricted length with kisses.

“Oh, Maker…” Anders moaned, his long fingers pushing into the mage’s copper hair.

With a soft moan of his own, Hawke tugged on the healer’s smalls...only to have them get caught up on the stocking suspenders. Grunting softly in frustration, he took the sides of them in his fists and burned through the material, catching the edges with his fingers before they fell so they didn’t reveal everything just yet.

“Didn’t you just buy those?” Anders said softly, amusement plain in his voice.

Hawke kissed at Anders’ hips. “I’m certain…” he murmured against the healer’s skin, “...that some shopkeep somewhere has another pair of sapphire underthings in your size…” Carefully, like he was opening a present, Hawke pulled back the slightly burnt edges of the smalls in question…

...to reveal Anders’ prick, standing proudly away from his body, wrapped neatly in a length of cerulean ribbon that Hawke was certain hadn’t been in the parcel he’d brought home. He glanced up at his lover to find that Anders was smirking down at him.

“You forgot the finishing touch,” the healer explained. He had that seductively convincing tone again, the one that reminded Hawke of the brothel.

Hawke ran his thumb up the underside of Anders’ cock, relishing the sensation of the ribbon criss-crossing over the smooth skin underneath. “But you didn’t,” he commented, low and husky. When he reached the head, he gave a gentle squeeze, encouraging a few clear drops to bead at the tip. He licked at them, barely a touch, just enough to taste, but it caused Anders to moan and tighten his hands in Hawke’s hair.

Trailing his fingers back down the healer’s length, Hawke reached the bow tied at the base. He toyed with the ribbon, rubbing it between his finger and thumb, before asking, “May I?”

“Please,” Anders replied, need plain in that one simple word.

Hawke gave one of the trailing edges a tug, untying the bow, and carefully unwrapped the ribbon, winding it around his hand as he went. He wanted to keep it; it wouldn’t do to let it get damaged. He gave Anders one rough stroke then took him into his mouth, letting the healer’s entire length slide between his lips, until the head bumped against the back of his throat.

He made a mental note to ask Anders how to let it go deeper without gagging.

Anders’ long fingers, still twined in Hawke’s hair, clenched painfully. He let out a choked gasp, his cock twitching in the other man’s mouth.

Hawke swirled his tongue against the head, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked. His hands moved to Anders’ thighs to caress the stocking suspenders. A low moan came from him, causing the healer to hiss out a sharp breath.

“Careful, Hawke, unless you want me to--” Anders cut off with a gasp as the other man groaned encouragingly.

Hawke wanted nothing more in that moment than to swallow his lover’s pleasure, to make his legs tremble and his voice get all high and choked. He redoubled his efforts, moving one hand to stroke the inches of Anders’ cock that his mouth couldn’t reach while the other stayed gripping the stocking suspenders for dear life.

Keeping his double-fisted grip in Hawke’s hair, Anders fucked into his mouth. “Maker’s breath...Hawke...oh...oh, Maker... _Hawke_ …!” he moaned, ending in a shout, as he released into his lover’s waiting mouth.

Hawke couldn’t stop the low, satisfied moan that came from him as Anders’ cock jerked and hardened against his tongue, hot fluid spurting down his throat. He swallowed greedily, letting the delicious thickness roll over his tongue. Carefully, knowing how sensitive the healer got after he finished, he pulled away, sitting back on his heels and looking up at the other man.

Anders’ fingers slid out of Hawke’s hair without resistance; his grip had relaxed as soon as his orgasm had finished. Panting softly, he ran his fingers through his own hair, pushing it out of his face, clearly trying to come back to himself.

Rolling to his feet, Hawke swooped in for a kiss, gentle at first, then more insistent. His tongue pushed into the healer’s mouth. He wanted Anders to taste himself on his lips.

Which, apparently, Anders wanted too. He moaned softly against Hawke’s mouth, tongue darting to meet the other man’s.

Hawke ran his hands down the healer’s sides, squeezing at his corseted waist. “You’re gorgeous,” he murmured, moving his kisses to Anders’ jaw, relishing the sensation of the ever-present stubble against his lips. “Perfect. A treasure. I’m so lucky…” He trailed off, kissing down the healer’s neck.

Anders chuckled softly. “If you’re going to be this affectionate every time I wear a corset, we’re going to have to stock up.”

“Could we?” Hawke nearly moaned, longing plain in his voice. He unwound the ribbon from his hand and draped it over Anders’ neck, moving to tie it in a bow against his throat, thinking that it would compliment the rest of the outfit.

To his surprise, Anders’ eyes filled with blue fire. The bright, intense blue that meant Justice was in control. Hawke couldn’t help the thrill of fear that ran through him. Or how much he liked it. Justice never poked his head out while he and Anders were being intimate; he’d gotten the impression that the spirit was offended by the entire process.

Hawke never mentioned to Anders how good he looked when Justice bled through. He knew the healer wouldn’t take it as a compliment.

“Justice?” Hawke ventured carefully.

In the deep, thrumming voice that echoed with the Fade, Justice growled, “Anders is a slave to no one. He is a free man!”

“Of course he is,” Hawke replied, confused. “And I will fight for his freedom until my dying breath, you know this.”

Anders’ head, controlled by the spirit inside of him, tilted and his lip curled in derision. “You seek to bind him to you.”

“What?” Suddenly, it dawned on Hawke. He let his fingers drop from the ribbon around Anders’ throat; a ribbon that was apparently being construed as a collar by the spirit. He’d triggered something in Anders’ subconscious and the very thought made him nauseous. “No, no, that wasn’t my intent. Can I speak to Anders, please?”

Justice opened Anders’ mouth, ready to argue, but the healer’s eyes went back to their natural hazel before darting over Hawke in concern. “Are you alright?” he asked immediately.

“I’m fine,” Hawke reassured him with a smile. “Are _you_ alright? I didn’t mean…”

Anders shook his head. “I...I’m sorry. The Templars…” He trailed off, eyes skating to the side like they did when he didn’t want to talk about something.

Hawke pulled the healer into his arms. “It’s alright. You don’t have to tell me and you have nothing to apologize for. I know they hurt you and I’m so sorry that I reminded you of it.” Silently, he redoubled his oath to destroy the Templars. What they did to mages was inexcusable. What they’d done to Anders, they would burn for. He would personally hunt every Templar that had ever laid on a hand on his love.

He knew it couldn’t bring Anders peace. But justice and vengeance aren’t that different.

Anders snuggled into his embrace. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overreact and ruin everything,” he mumbled against the other man’s neck.

Hawke kissed the side of his head. “You didn’t ruin a thing, my love. I just thought the ribbon would look pretty there. You know how I love your neck. That’s all. I should’ve been more considerate and it won’t happen again, I swear.”

Taking a deep breath, Anders pulled back to meet his lover’s eyes. He tilted his chin up to expose his throat. “Do it.”

Hawke smiled and ran his fingers through the healer’s hair. “It’s alright, Anders. You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to show you that I trust you, Hawke. That I know I’m safe with you.” Anders tilted his chin up a little farther. “Take it as that. Instead of a sign of ownership, as a symbol of trust.”

Having seen that look so many times before, Hawke knew there was no point in arguing. Anders could be as stubborn as a Qunari sometimes. “Alright,” he said eventually. Slowly, carefully, he tied a neat bow in the ribbon, leaving it loose enough around the healer’s neck that he hoped it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Anders eyes flooded with blue again -- but just for a moment. He offered Hawke a shy, crooked smile. “Do I look lovely?” he asked.

“Always,” Hawke replied, pouring his feelings into the word. It was true. Anders was always lovely. Covered in blood, unwashed for days in the wilderness, first thing in the morning after falling asleep at his desk. Always.

Anders’ smile grew, which was all the reward Hawke needed in the world. “Do you know what I’d like?” he asked, his voice going soft.

“Tell me. I’ll do anything.”

Anders pressed his body against Hawke’s, making it very clear that he was already half hard again. Tilting his head coyly, he said, “I would like…” He ran his hands down the front of the other man’s house robe. “...if my big, strong lover…” His nimble fingers cupped Hawke’s cock, stroking through the silken fabric. “...would fuck me until I can’t form a single coherent thought.”

Hawke _growled_. His hands carded through Anders’ hair, over his shoulders, then gripped his upper arms. “Would you now?” he asked, his voice tightly controlled.

“Mmm,” Anders hummed, still smiling that quirky little half-smile that he only wore when he was turned on.

Swallowing, forcing himself to stay calm for just _a few more moments_ , Hawke said, “If I do anything you don’t like…”

“...I’ll speak up.”

“Good boy.” 

Those words, spoken so innocently, got a reaction from Anders. The healer bit his lip, eyebrows coming together, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

“On the bed. Hands and knees,” Hawke commanded roughly, releasing his grip on the healer’s arms and stepping out of the way.

Anders quirked an eyebrow. “With pleasure, messere.”

Hawke watched in awe as Anders crawled onto their bed, enticingly slowly, making every movement graceful and provocative. The healer’s broad shoulders flexed to take his weight, muscle moving above the line of the corset, the contrast divine. Hawke knew he was staring, a little gape-mouthed, but he felt no shame in showing Anders exactly how beautiful he was.

When the healer stopped in the middle of the mattress, he arched his back, presenting himself invitingly.

Hawke followed him, kneeling between Anders’ legs, and pushed his house pants down to free his aching cock. He rutted against the healer’s ass, relishing the friction, for just long enough to taunt himself with what was coming.

But first…

Caressing Anders’ corseted sides before moving to the stocking suspenders, Hawke eased back, bringing his face down to kiss at the straps of fabric. Excruciatingly slowly, hoping to tease his lover as much as he was teasing himself, Hawke moved his kisses to the healer’s bared ass. Then to his puckered entrance.

Anders hissed out a breath as Hawke’s lips touched his hole. “Maker, Hawke...what’s gotten into you tonight?”

“Nothing compared to what’s going to get into you,” Hawke murmured, his breath caressing the healer’s tender flesh. He could almost hear Anders roll his eyes. He chuckled. “I cherish you. And I don’t show you often enough. That’s all.” Then he licked a slow stripe from the other man’s balls to his tailbone.

Anders let out a soft whine, his shoulders dropping to the mattress, leaving him even more vulnerable. His long fingers clenched at the blankets.

Hawke’s hands clasped eagerly at the healer’s rear, spreading him open. He’d never seen his lover like this. Certainly, they’d...been intimate...dozens of times. But he’d never seen Anders so...exposed.

And he loved it.

Hawke canted forward, burying his face in Anders’ ass. Passionately, he kissed at the healer’s entrance, swirling his tongue over that perfect little pucker. He felt Anders clench against his lips and moaned. The slight tang of sweat coupled with the flowery hint of perfume and the taste of his lover’s skin was delicious. Greedily, he ran his tongue over Anders’ hole, over and over, filling their bedroom with obscene, wet sounds.

Anders’ mewling grew louder and louder, to the point where Hawke was sure they’d woken everyone in Hightown. Or, at least, that Bodahn was downstairs in his quarters, covering his head with a pillow.

Spreading Anders’ ass even further, fingers digging into that soft, pale flesh, Hawke pushed his tongue inside of the healer’s hot clench. Anders shouted, panting, his fists bunching into their sheets, every muscle tense and thrumming.

It was too much. Hawke couldn’t hold off anymore. He pulled back, put two of his fingers in his mouth to coat them with saliva, and roughly shoved both into Anders’ waiting body. Another sharp yell that ended with a moan shook Hawke to his core. He needed his precious treasure and he needed him _now_.

Spitting in the palm of his unoccupied hand, Hawke gave himself a few rough strokes and just that was nearly enough to push him over the edge, with Anders prostrated in front of him, dressed like a common whore. For him. It was all for _him_.

“You drive me mad,” Hawke growled. Removing his fingers, he ran his nails from Anders’ hips to the tops of his stockings, leaving red marks in his wake.

The laugh that came from Anders was a little frantic and ended with a strangled gasp as Hawke’s nails dug in. “Oh Maker, _yes_ , Hawke...go mad...lose control…”

Hawke nudged the head of his cock against the healer’s entrance, hissing as his lover relaxed to let him in. Anders was always so hot, so eager… Hawke forced himself to go slowly, to give the healer a chance to adjust, to accommodate him…

Anders fisted the blankets angrily. “Don’t...don’t be gentle, Hawke. _Please._ Not tonight.” He writhed, pushing his body back, trying to get more of his lover’s prick inside of him. Panting, he turned his head to look Hawke in the eyes. “You’ve dressed me like a whore, now fuck me like one.”

Hawke could almost feel his brain shut down and his need take over. One hand clasped Anders’ hip, holding him still, to stop his infernal _wriggling_. The other took a handful of golden hair and pushed the healer’s face into the mattress. Then, with one brutal thrust, he shoved into Anders’ body, rougher than he ever had.

It was _tight_ and _hot_ and...and _not ready_ for him and _that shouldn’t have been so sexy_.

Anders let out a startled shout that ended in a breathy laugh. “Yes. _Yes_. That’s it, that’s--”

Hawke tightened his grip on the healer’s hair, shoving. “Quiet,” he growled. “The only sounds I want to hear out of you are screams of pleasure.”

Anders’ eyes went a little wide but he nodded.

“Good boy.”

Hawke’s hand moved from Anders’ hip to his waist, fingers digging into corseted flesh. Not giving himself time to muddle himself up with concerns, he thrust into the healer’s heated clench, setting a punishing pace.

He’d never fucked like this, just letting go, just pounding into someone…

...and it was…

… _feral_.

Slamming forward, over and over, his only thoughts on how amazing Anders felt, the needy sounds coming from his lover, sounds that he wanted to make louder and _louder_. He shifted his hand from the healer’s waist to his back, near the top of the corset, and tangled his fingers in the laces. With a tug and a shove, he tightened the laces and adjusted the slant of Anders’ arch in one swift motion, constricting the healer’s breath and putting Hawke at exactly the right angle to thrust against…

Anders let out a sharp, almost pained, shout, his prick jerking, leaking all over their sheets. “ _Fuck_ ,” he breathed, gasping, his entire body going tense.

With a growl, Hawke resumed his rhythm, hard and fast, but this time driving into the healer’s prostate with every thrust.

After only a few moments of such punishment, Anders’ breathless gasps turned into whines...which then turned into mindless, broken pleading. “ _Maker_...Hawke...I… _yes_...right… _please?_...pleasepleaseplease...harder… _harder_...”

Hawke smirked and gave Anders’ hair a sharp tug. “I told you to scream for me.”

Anders complied immediately, letting his cries turn wordless and raw.

Watching Anders come tumbling apart, thrust by thrust, was completely, unbearably irresistible. Hawke felt the pressure building low in his stomach, coiling heat begging for release, tension that just got worse and worse with every thrust into the perfect body before him. The desperate sounds coming from Anders sent jolt after jolt of pure, electric _need_ straight to his prick.

“You’ve been such a good boy tonight, my treasure,” Hawke crooned, his voice rumbling and low with desire. “Are you ready for your reward?”

Anders opened his mouth to reply, seemed to remember that he wasn’t supposed to be talking, then bit down on the blanket near his mouth. A muffled cry and a wordless, eager nod.

“Good. Because I’m about to make you _filthy_.”

The high-pitched whine that came from the healer’s throat, slightly muffled by the blanket between his teeth, was all the encouragement Hawke needed.

His grip on the corset laces tightened, _yanking_ , pulling them tight, cutting off the healer’s cries, turning them into little gasps. Pounding, thrusting, Hawke strove for his orgasm, letting the hot clench of his lover’s body push him closer and closer and _closer_...

Over the precipice, crashing, white-hot, bone-jarring, Hawke’s vision went dark around the edges as he came with a shout, one last thrust deep, _deep_ , as deep as he could get, Anders’ ass against his hips, Anders’ hair tangled in his fingers, Anders’ struggling little breaths loud in his ears, Anders, Anders, Anders…

“ _Anders_ ,” Hawke breathed, echoing his thoughts, his thoughts that had been nothing but Anders since the first day they’d met, thoughts that would be nothing but Anders until the day he died.

Suddenly reality reasserted itself and Hawke realized with a sickening swoop how he’d just treated his treasure. He relaxed his grip immediately, moving his hand with infinite tenderness over the side of the healer’s face, stroking stubble.

“Anders?” Hawke asked, soft and worried.

Whiskey-colored eyes fluttered open, unfocused, then they found Hawke’s face. An almost drunken-looking half-smile quirked Anders’ lips. “Well hello,” he murmured. Carefully, he pushed himself up, or tried to, his arms trembling. With a laugh, he gave up and sank back down on the bed.

Hawke pulled away, slowly, feeling a little ashamed at how much he liked seeing Anders looking so _wrecked_. The healer’s hair was sweat-damp, a complete mess from Hawke’s grasp. The corset laces were tangled and uneven. And, _Maker_ , the evidence of the mage’s pleasure was dripping down Anders’ thighs. With a shuddering breath and a silent, internal chastisement, Hawke wrapped his arms around the healer’s slender waist and rolled, pulling the other man down on top of him as he fell back on the bed.

“Hawke, don’t--” Anders started.

Too late. Hawke’s careless embrace landed him right in the puddle of semen on their blankets. He had been intending on snuggling Anders close and seeing him to completion carefully, after how selfish he’d been, but, “Did you already…?”

Anders nodded shyly.

“Untouched?”

Another shy nod, coupled with that crooked smile. Hawke let out a soft _unf_ then shook himself, guilt coming back in another wave. He hadn’t even had the common courtesy to stroke his lover’s prick while he claimed him.

Hawke pulled Anders in close, cradling his head, running gentle fingers through his sandy hair. “I’m sorry I was so rough, I don’t know what got into me. Did I hurt you?”

Anders pulled back to fix Hawke with a amused look, one eyebrow arched. “Hawke. My love. You were _perfect_. Please don’t apologize for giving me _exactly_ what I needed.” He snuggled close again, tucking his face into the crook of Hawke’s neck. “Now hold me and stroke my hair and tell me lovely things.”

Feeling like he was a bit adrift at sea, Hawke nonetheless complied. That was something he could easily do. His battle- and burn-scarred hands moved over Anders’ body, up through his hair, down over the corset, across his shoulders and arms, tracing soothing paths. “You are the most perfect creature on all of Thedas,” he murmured, dropping a kiss onto the crown of the healer’s head. “And I am the luckiest idiot, that you let me be near to you. That you let me…” He paused even as his hands stroked over Anders’ rear before getting back on their original path. “...be with you. You take my breath away. And you are always, _always_ , beautiful.”

“Even when I’ve been awake for three days straight and haven’t bathed or changed my robes or anything?” came the muffled reply from somewhere near Hawke’s collarbone, lightly teasing.

Hawke placed another kiss in Anders’ hair. “Of course. Your passion for the cause is one of the things that I love best about you. One of these days, I’m going to--”

“Drown the streets of Kirkwall in Templar blood for me?” Anders finished, having heard that promise a thousand times. It never failed to make him smile, though. He snuggled closer, pushing one thigh between Hawke’s legs, twining them more closely together.

Hawke chuckled. “You don’t believe me. But you’ll see. I’ll even slay the Knight-Commander for you.”

“Oh, that’s new! The Knight-Commander herself?” Anders’ voice was starting to get sleepy. Hawke had never heard him so peaceful.

“One and the same! Now come along, my treasure, let’s get you out of that constricting thing, it can’t be good for you to sleep in.” Hawke started unlacing the corset, ignoring the soft sounds of protestation he received in response. “Oh, hush. You can nod off in a moment,” he added softly. He fumbled a bit, untying the laces and unfastening the latches down the front. How Anders had gotten himself into it without assistance was anyone’s guess.

By the time Hawke pulled the corset away, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor, Anders was completely asleep. Smiling, shaking his head that he was willing to fall asleep on his completely ruined sheets, in his completely ruined pyjamas just to avoid disturbing his lover, Hawke placed a gentle kiss on Anders’ forehead and snuffed out the candles with a gesture.

Maybe he _should_ listen to Isabela more often, after all.


End file.
